


And Give Him All Your Body

by silverfoxflower



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Telepathic Bond, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/pseuds/silverfoxflower
Summary: “We’re connectedwhere?”“There is no where,” Yennefer said impatiently, “It’s a psychic connection. Telempathy.” When Geralt and Jaskier continued blinking at her blankly, she stomped over to Geralt and pinched him on the arm.“Ow!” Jaskier protested, grabbing his arm in the exact same spot.“Tel-e-mpathy,” Yennefer said with deliberate slowness as Jaskier and Geralt looked at each other with dawning horror.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 321
Collections: Holiday Horror 2020





	And Give Him All Your Body

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glorious_spoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/gifts).



> Love me some forced intimacy!! I hope you enjoy this, glorious_spoon!

“We’re connected _where_?” 

“There is no where,” Yennefer said impatiently, “It’s a psychic connection. Telempathy.” When Geralt and Jaskier continued looking at her blankly, she stomped over to Geralt and pinched him on the arm. 

“Ow!” Jaskier protested, grabbing his arm in the exact same spot. 

“ _Tel-e-mpathy_ ,” Yennefer said with deliberate slowness as Jaskier and Geralt looked at each other with dawning horror.

\--

Obviously, Geralt couldn’t take any jobs while Jaskier would reap the consequences, so while they waited for Yennefer’s return, Geralt found himself sleeping late, sorting his herbs and potions for the umpteenth time, and prowling the gwent tables like a wild animal in a cage, winning and losing the same handful of silver.

Jaskier had made himself suddenly scarce since the diagnosis. He was in town, of course, but never seemed to be staying at the same inn Geralt was, and never seemed to play the tavern where Geralt was drinking away the evening. 

If Geralt didn’t know better, he’d guess that Jaskier was avoiding him. Since he did know better, he didn’t have to guess. 

From the telempathy ... not much. The twinge of a stubbed toe, the sting of fingers rubbed against lute strings for hours. 

At night, sometimes, he felt hot. 

Not unexpected, of course. Jaskier was a man with a man’s needs. Geralt wished he would get it over with, but Jaskier always let it linger, the arousal pooling and spreading from his lower stomach, to his chest, his skin heating like fever. Geralt couldn't even put a hand on himself without being wildly conscious about what would be transmitted to Jaskier. 

(Not that Jaskier deserved the consideration, perhaps. Geralt imagined the man or woman Jaskier was with that night, recieving such lavish worship that Jaskier would neglect his own needs entirely.) 

(He did not feel a twinge of jealously at the thought.)

\--

Geralt heard the familiar, husky croon as he pushed open the door to the tavern. 

Jaskier, passionate in the climax of a bawdy ballad, singing ardently of his lady’s fair breasts as the crowd got rowdy, coins clattering at his feet. When Jaskier dropped the last note, panting, Geralt could feel an answering soreness in his own throat. 

Geralt hadn't admitted it to himself until now, but he missed Jaskier’s voice. Just the sound of him transported Geralt to a smokey campfire, the air ringing with snatches of dreamy melody interspersed with humming as Jaskier composed his latest ballad, bending his head over the fingerings of his lute as the fire gleamed gold in his hair. 

Quietly, Geralt stole into the corner of the tavern, hoping to avoid Jaskier’s gaze. To no avail. Drawn like a magnet, Jaskier’s eyes caught on Geralt’s from across the room. Geralt saw the alarm in Jaskier’s expression at the same moment that he felt a warmth crawl over his neck and his heart begin to pound. Geralt stood, but Jaskier seemed to scramble away from him, turning to clasp the hands of a passing admirer, suddenly eager to pull her into a chat. 

Geralt’s jaw clenched, and his stomach felt sour. It was what he expected. 

“Hey, Witcher!” a man called from behind him. 

Geralt half-turned to see the gwent player, Odem, who he’d humiliated at the tables a few nights ago. The man did not want to learn a lesson. Today, however, Odem had brought reinforcement. Two thugs sitting at his table, also looking familiar as men Geralt had fleeced. 

“Now, how about that rematch?” Odem asked, his voice a low threat. 

“I was just leaving,” Geralt growled, turning to the door before feeling his shoulder grabbed in a tight grip. 

“We insist.” 

For a moment, Geralt was tempted to shrug the man’s hand off of his shoulder and ready himself for a fight. Then he remembered Jaskier. 

“Well,” Geralt said, forcing a tight smile on his face. “If you insist.” 

\--

Geralt meant to let the man have a win, he really did, but Odem was just _so terrible_. It became a chore to even make believe that they were evenly matched. Adding to his distraction was Geralt's unwanted, agonizing hyper-conciousness of Jaskier. 

Perhaps it was that the curse increased in efficacy with proximity. Perhaps just that Jaskier was feeling especially nervous tonight. All Geralt knew was that the fluttering, queasy sensation in his stomach was not his own, and neither was the dryness on his tongue, the slight tremble in his fingers as he spun his last card across the table. 

"What?" Odem exclaimed, his chair shoving back with a loud screech that quieted the room. 

"You got your rematch," Geralt said grimly, "Now leave me be." He was tired, maybe, distracted, certainly. Otherwise, Geralt wouldn't have thought to reach across the table for his winnings, a pittance in the scheme of things. 

He didn't register the dagger until it was planted in the back of his hand, the blade slicing through muscle and bone and sinew, shivering as it pinned him to the table. 

Across the room, Jaskier's voice broke in the middle of a lyric, crying out in pain. 

"You're a _cheat_ , Witcher-" Odem's next words were lost in a garble as Geralt lunged across the table, putting him down with a hard punch to the jaw. He wrenched the dagger from his hand in time to plant it in the shoulder of one of Odem's men, who spun away with a shout. The other man slammed a bottle to the side of Geralt's head. At the front of the room, Jaskier fell off of his stool, crumpling on the ground. 

It was pandemonium then. Geralt could hardly remember the damage he dealt, just the taste of blood on his teeth, the hollow ringing in his ears. He was just able to stop himself short of killing anyone, but it was a close thing. 

"Geralt!" Jaskier clasping his arm, the frantic warmth of his touch making Geralt still. He realized, suddenly, that the eyes of the tavern were on him ... and the crumpled, bloodied bodies at his feet. "I think you've made your point," Jaskier muttered nervously, and Geralt turned to see a blossoming bruise on the side of Jaskier's face. "We should get out of here," Jaskier said and Geralt nodded jerkily in agreement. 

\--

"This is my fault," Geralt muttered, clumsily applying the field dressing to Jaskier's hand. If it were him, he'd leave it at that, but Jaskier's hand was his trade. "You need a healer." 

"If that's your manner of saying you're sorry, I'll take it," Jaskier said dryly. "Though you couldn't have conceived the sheer idiocy of those men to pick a fight with a Witcher." Jaskier sat at the edge of the inn bed with Geralt kneeling at his side, and when Geralt flicked a glance up at him, Jaskier wore a strange, pained expression.

In his own chest, Geralt felt an answering twinge. 

"We'll get this sorted when Yennefer comes back," Geralt ground out, looking away. "After we sever the bond we should ... go our separate ways."

Jaskier swallowed. "I ... what?" 

"You don't have to lie anymore," Geralt said, as patiently as he could. "I know how you feel. I could ... feel it too."

"Shit," Jaskier pressed his uninjured hand against his face, and Geralt felt a tearing, squeezing sensation in his chest. This time, he thought it might have come from him. "I never wanted you to know. I ... I was just going to live with this-" 

"You don't have to explain anything to me," Geralt said, standing and stepping back from Jaskier's bowed form. "I'm a Witcher. A mutant." His lips twisted bitterly. "This just makes you normal." 

He just thought ... had _hoped_ that Jaskier was different.

"I ... what?" Jaskier's head shot up. "What ... what did you think you felt from me?" 

"Fear," Geralt said flatly. "Disgust." Jaskier had felt Geralt's attraction to him and reacted thusly. Or perhaps he had just alway despised him and hid it under his bright smile and easy-going charm. It hurt the same, either way. 

" _What?_ " the incredulity in Jaskier's face gave Geralt pause. "Noooooo ... no no no no-" 

"Your stomach turns when you so much as look at me!" Geralt growled, his heart pounding in his throat. "Don't you think I noticed how you were avoiding me this entire week?' 

"That's because I ..." Jaskier licked his lips, his hand snaking out to grab Geralt's hand and press it against his chest. 

Warm. Solid. The heartbeat staccato under Geralt's palm. A sudden, familiar heat flushing across Geralt's skin.

"I love you, Geralt." Jaskier said quietly, "I was never going to tell you, but ... there it is." He dropped his hold on Geralt's wrist, but Geralt kept his hand where it was, searching Jaskier's face with muted shock. Jaskier tore his eyes away, laughing dryly. "You think I'd stomp through the width of the Northern Kingdoms twice over to follow a man I despised? It's far more pathetic than that, I assure you-" 

Geralt pitched forward, pressing Jaskier into a hard kiss. Surprise. A muted sting. Geralt pulled back, remembering Jaskier's bruised jaw, only for Jaskier to haul him closer with one hand twisted in the front of Geralt's tunic. Their teeth clashed and Jaskier laughed, his voice hesitant in the sudden heat between their bodies. 

"Does this mean what I think it does? This won't be ... just a one time thing, right? I mean, I'll take it, as sad as that makes me sound, and attempt not to let it shred my heart to pieces. You just have to prepare my expectations now, because let me tell you, I did _not_ think we'd end up here when I was warming up this evening ..." Jaskier continued to ramble until Geralt kissed him again, slick and frantic. 

_Can't you feel it?_ Geralt thought impatiently. His heartbeat - Jaskier's? - so strong that it might burst from his chest. His blood thrumming under his skin, drawing a hot, prickly flush everywhere they touched. The curse was refracting the arousal between their bodies, heightening their need to a fever pitch, to something that threatened to shatter, bright and breathless as Jaskier pressed Geralt against the inn bed.

"You need a healer," Geralt murmured against Jaskier's lips, sweeping his thumb gently, tenderly across his bruised cheek.

"At this time of night?" Jaskier's voice took an edge of humor as he moved to straddle Geralt's hips. "No, my friend, it seems that you have put me in a rather ... compromised state, without even the use of my dominant hand for relief."

"You want me to take responsibility?" Geralt asked, his voice husky as he rubbed his hands over Jaskier's thighs, feeling the muscle jump under his fingers as he squeezed firmly. 

\--

"Maybe we should convince Yennefer to let us stay like this a while longer," Jaskier panted, staring up at the ceiling. 

"No," Geralt muttered, his face pressed against the curve of Jaskier's shoulder. When he'd put his mouth on Jaskier's cock, the sharp, intense pleasure of their shared connection had nearly made him spend in his pants like a teenage boy. If he ever had any hope of fucking Jaskier, or being fucked by him ...

"Yes, yes, the Witcher thing," Jaskier drew his arm from where Geralt had inadvertently pinned it, and began petting his head. The simple warmth of the act made Geralt's eyes flutter closed, and he knew, as he felt Jaskier press his lips to Geralt's temple, that at last the feeling was mutual.


End file.
